Beginnings
by whatswiththemustache
Summary: My ongoing collection of drabbles written for the Writing Challenges on the Heart of Camelot. One: An Interesting Use for a Scarf.
1. An Interesting Use For A Scarf

A/N: I recently joined the Heart of Camelot, an awesome website for all fandoms but mainly Merlin, and at HoC there a lot of cool writing challenged and things to participate in...so I started doing these drabble challenges. They're really fun to write, and I hope you enjoy reading them as well. =) Please review and tell me what you think!

"An Interesting Use For a Scarf – At Least the Horse Likes It"

Getting attacked by bandits at some point during every single patrol was beginning to get slightly repetitive.

Repetitive enough that, in fact, it really wouldn't be a Camelot patrol if they weren't ambushed in the middle of it. It certainly wouldn't be the same if Merlin didn't _just barely_ avoid being skewered, trampled, stoned or otherwise disposed of during that desperate fight for survival…

So, it really _wasn't_ a typical Camelot patrol, this time, because for once, Merlin _didn't_ make it through completely unscathed.

He wasn't injured, of course; if that were to happen, then it just might have been that the Camelotians' universe would have been turned upside down completely. No, the spear that the snarling bandit had wielded only grazed the side of Merlin's neck; it had been aimed precisely one inch from his actual flesh, instead piercing through the shabby red scarf that he wore so diligently.

Merlin cursed as he felt the fabric tear, ripping off his neck, but didn't have a chance to turn and look for it as the fighting continued onwards. There was always another tree branch to nonchalantly drop, or an additional sword to oh-so-casually heat to scorching temperatures…

Afterwards – once the bandits were inexplicably vanquished, and Arthur was busy marveling at their stroke of luck at all of those opponents being so conveniently clumsy and prone to throwing their weapons halfway across the forest – Merlin began to pace the trampled clearing, looking for his scarf.

It didn't take long to find it, and when he did – " _Arthur_!"

Arthur stomped over, twirling his sword vainly. "What is it now?"

"Your horse is _eating_ my neckerchief!"

"Really? Huh – I was wondering when you'd come up with a good use for it. I'm sick of that horse constantly chomping at the bit."


	2. A Different Perspective

"A Different Perspective – Agravaine"

Agravaine was very good at lying. It was something he'd always known, but in recent years it'd become an increasingly apparent and defining part of his person.

It could be seen in the way he effortlessly excused himself from the company of his fellow lords and ladies, dissolving their suspicions and pausing their questions with a few well-chosen compliments.

It could be seen in the way he skillfully manipulated young Arthur's thought process, guiding the unsuspecting prince toward the pre-determined conclusion.

It could be seen in the way he always managed to land the blame on someone else, no matter how sticky the situation…one of the knights, a servant, or some poor, unlucky peasant would suddenly find themselves faced with suspicion of crimes as hefty as treason, but Agravaine was always beyond doubt.

And even before all that – it could be seen in the way Agravaine had denied his allegiance to Uther and Arthur, that fateful day when he'd stumbled upon the Lady Morgana, her menacing presence darkening the vault where Camelot's top-secret plans were kept. It could be seen in the way he'd assured Arthur that all was well, the next day, and that he'd merely been feeling a little ill, thank you very much. It could be seen in the way he'd secretively rode out to her hovel that first time, bringing traitorous words on his tongue, and how each of his following visits had grown more and more natural – casual, even. Expected.

But more than that…it could be seen in the way he told himself that he was doing the right thing. That Morgana was right. That he owed it to Ygraine to clean up the mess her husband and son had made. That he wouldn't regret it, in the end. It really was lucky that he was such a good liar, because Morgana never allowed a single untruth to be told in her presence. And though Agravaine was good at convincing other that what he said was true, he was even better at convincing himself.


	3. The Chains That Bind Us

" **The Chains That Bind Us – Secrets, Deadly and Otherwise"**

"Tis – _hic_ – 'tis the chains that bind us," said Gwaine haphazardly in a tragic tone of voice, his ale sloshing dangerously in its tankard.

"How's that?" mumbled Merlin, who could barely keep his eyes open.

"Secrets. Secret identities – they shroud our lives…like a storm cloud…on a stormy day…" Gwaine seemed to have lost his eloquent thread.

"What?"

"Y'know. You've got you destiny and all that – _hic_ – and I've got my noble father and bloodlines…" Gwiane sighed dramatically, though the dramatic effect was a bit diminished as he jerked unexpectedly, almost falling out of his seat. "Always having to hide. Keep a terrible secret. It's – _hic_ – the chains – _hic_ – it's metaphorical."

Merlin squinted at Gwaine, unsure if he'd heard correctly. "How exactly is your having noble blood comparable to my having magic?"

Gwaine turned to give Merlin an affronted look, marred only by the slow drift of his eyes as they struggled to focus on Merlin's face. "Well of course _you'd_ say that."

"But," pressed Merlin, leaning forward slightly. "How can that secret be _bad_? I mean, if anyone ever found out, then you'd only be _more_ officially a knight, not less."

Gwaine shook his head stubbornly, taking a swig and muttering almost incomprehensibly. "Importance…s'all a matter of perspective."

Merlin just shook his head in a bemused way. After all, if there was anywhere a good place to argue with Gwaine at, the tavern certainly wasn't it.


End file.
